Elevator Music
by Domicile
Summary: “Wait, wait, wait... You want to battle my father for custody of me?” Cam
1. Chapter 1

**And this is how it looks when I am standing on the edge**

**And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground**

**And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain**

**And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away**

_**Breathe Into Me by RED**_

She's watching you. You can feel her eyes on the back of your neck and you really wish she'd stop. As much as you generally like her attention completely focused on you, this is different. She's not the only one staring, though. Everyone is staring at you. After all, it is your mother's funeral. And you're not crying.

You want to cry. You've wanted to cry since you came home from filming iCarly and found her convulsing on the couch. Her body jumping itself up and down with her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth open. How long had she been like this? An empty bottle of whisky lay on the coffee table. Alcohol poisoning. Her eyes wouldn't open no matter how loudly you screamed at her. The ambulance was there and trying to resuscitate her, but it had been too late. Apparently if you'd arrived home two hours earlier, you could have saved her.

And you want to feel like shit over it because when you are told you could have been the wedge between life and death and you weren't, you should feel like shit on most occasions. Only you can't. You didn't make her drink; you couldn't be expected to save her. Did they really want you to give up your sixteen-year-old life to look after your sick mother? You couldn't. You just couldn't. It probably had quite a bit to do with the beautiful brunette digging holes in the back of your neck with her eyes.

She's hugged you so many times today you've lost count. She keeps petting your curls and whispering assuring words into your ears, but you don't need it. So the woman gave you life. She's been trying to get you to want out of it ever since. But you hug her back and pretend like you're feeling sadness instead of resentment.

Resentment because yesterday you learned that your father is actually still alive and you are going to live with him now. In fact, he's supposedly at this very funeral, but you haven't noticed anyone that you could've gotten your nose from or that smirk you didn't inherit from ol' mommy. And boy have you looked, your eyes glaring into every middle-aged man to walk by you or offer condolences, searching for a sign of some connection. Even one that only exists via DNA. But you don't see anyone.

You hate funerals, especially those where people give all their sympathies to you. People you've never seen before come up and hug you or pat your shoulder or chuck your chin. It makes you feel like screaming. This whole ordeal makes you feel like screaming. Such a nice start to the beginning of the year.

Spencer drives you back to his loft on the back of his moped after the service, and his endless chatter cheers you up a little. Actually, more like it makes you realize that you haven't smiled all day and even though you haven't cried, there's a certain dead look in your normally vivacious eyes. You squint and make strange faces at his side mirror over his shoulder but you can't bring any life back into your sallow cheeks.

Spencer's spaghetti tacos don't seem as appetizing as they usually do when you have a huge plate sitting in front of you at dinner. The shower Carly shoves you into after dinner doesn't feel as warm or comforting. Even less appreciated are the pity glances Spencer and Carly are sending you, not even trying to hide by glancing away when you meet their gaze. Just a small smile. Hopeful.

Carly takes you out on the roof. It's dark outside, half a moon shining, and a small number of stars. Living in Seattle, you don't get to see too many of those. The urge to throw yourself over the edge, even with Carly standing a few feet away watching, is overwhelming.

You spend the night wrapped in Carly's arms. It isn't all that unusual considering you spend the night there all the time and nine times out of ten you wake up snuggled up to her in some way. But all you can think about, while she breathes slow and even in your ear, is how your mom looked so pale lying in that white satin lining. Her cheeks had always been plump and pink with drink and the grinning of the alcoholic, but not now. She looked strangely younger in death.

Carly wakes up around two, pulling you closer and nuzzling her head into your hair, and that's when you begin to cry. It isn't slow to start or stop. You sit up and let the sobs wrack your exhausted body and you shake. Carly's awake immediately, holding you as close as possible. You try to listen to the words bouncing around your eardrums, but you can't seem to grasp English anymore. Your fists clench and you try to loosen them up when you notice the wetness of blood on your fingertips.

"Sam," Her voice finally breaks through your clouded head. "Sam, it's okay. I'm here."

You don't really know why you're crying. Its not like she was a great mom or anything. Yeah, but she was _your_ mother, a voice in the back of your head manages to mumble in your hysteria and you wail angrily at it. It doesn't matter. You shouldn't be upset over this.

Your eyes manage to focus on a dresser over Carly's shoulder, and you notice that all of the drawers are to some degree open and empty. Feeling like it takes the weight of a car to lift your arm, you point unsteadily at them.

"Carly?" It's the first word you've managed to say in hours, maybe even days. You have the ridiculous thought of it being the only good English word in existence, but then you start thinking of words like 'happenstance' and 'rutabaga' and change your mind. "Skedaddle." You say out loud just to reaffirm your newfound respect of the English language.

Carly pulls away and eyes you suspiciously. "What?"

"Your dresser is empty." You inform her as if she might not be aware of it.

"Oh." She licks her bottom lip and you can't help but watch, with your jaw dropped dumbly, this newly acquired nervous habit. "Yeah, it is."

"Getting rid of your clothes?" You encourage. The mental picture of your mother is still floating in front of your eyes, but talking about something completely unrelated feels good.

She looks away before meeting your eyes once more. "I was hoping you'd fill them."

A blush rises into her cheeks and you find it oddly appealing in a way you've never associated with her before. But you ignore it as guilt hits you hard in the gut. You never told her your dad was alive. It wasn't like you were keeping it from her or anything; it just hadn't come up in lieu of recent events. And now felt like bad timing, but you had to.

"I-I… I can't." You stutter. So much for the tears ending: they are back and with a vengeance. Pouring from your tear ducts like it was what your body was created to do.

"Why not?" Her response is choked and she looks almost hurt.

"I have to go live with my… my father." You almost chuckle at your own dramatic pause. When did your life start resembling a soap opera?

Her eyes go wide and her lips part in typical shocked Carly fashion. "What?!"

"Yeah, I know." You mumble. "I just found out, too."

"But your dad is… is-is…" You cut her off there, despite how cute she looks, to save her from the agony of grasping new information at two in the morning. Why is everything Carly suddenly cute?

"Dead. Yeah, I thought so too. That's what my mom told me, anyway." You shrug, oddly calm.

"This is preposterous!" She's climbed out of bed, clearly fully awake, pacing. She picked this habit up at about thirteen. How long have you been studying her? "Where has he been all of these years? What right does he have to you? I'm the one who's been here!"

"Wait, wait, wait." You stop her, rising too. "You want to battle my father for custody of me?"

She grins despite her anger. "If I must, yes. Spencer was in law school for like three days. Maybe he could be of some help."

You shrug again. "I'm meeting him tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" She shrieks, taking most of the sadness out of you. "That's too soon! We don't have time to come up with a battle plan!"

"He's not taking me home with him tomorrow." You sooth, taking her hands in yours. "We're just meeting. He's buying me lunch."

"Lunch! That bastard."

"What?"

"Everyone knows food is the way to your heart. He's trying to bribe you."

"Carly."

"You should stand him up. Tomorrow is too soon. Call him and say you can't handle it tomorrow. You need more time with the people who love you." Her words are so frantic and jittery you want to kiss her.

Wait.

"I can't, Carls. I'm just going to meet him. Than I'll be back." You tell her.

You realize then that tears are steadily clouding her vision and running off her cheekbones. "Does he live in Seattle? What will I do if he takes you away from me?"

You do kiss her then. On impulse. Not because you've been thinking about it for the last five minutes. It's quick and hard, your lips slamming into hers. It lasts only a moment before you pull away and rest your forehead against hers. Not even long enough to see if she'd respond. But her eyes are staring deep into yours and you aren't quite sure if she would have liked for you to take it a bit further or she can't believe you just did that. It doesn't really matter, you tell yourself. It won't happen again.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Its nearly four o' clock in the morning when Carly finally falls back asleep and you sneak off to the roof. Even with your thick pajamas and Carly's big, fluffy coat, you're still cold. The air flows out of your mouth in harsh bursts of white. But it feels good. Your teeth chatter, your eyes feel dry; a headache is forming behind your left eye. All signs of being alive. But you've never wished for death harder. Is your mother's death really affecting you enough for a death wish?

You lean against the railing, staring at the blackened cement several stories down. You could do it. You wouldn't have to jump. Just lean a bit further and you could fall. You could feel weightless. Gravity could take care of the rest. You shove your hips into the railing and edge yourself up a bit more, closer to that instant end to all of your problems. Even if it didn't kill you, which you highly doubted it wouldn't, that pain might just be enough to take the edge off of this catastrophe of a life.

What would Carly do, though? She doesn't want you to go off with your dad, how would she handle you leaving this planet? Forget her, how could you stand being without her? Since it would be a suicide, according to Dante, you'd be in hell. Carly would never end up in hell and you'd have to spend an eternity in pain without her.

You fix yourself a cup of hot cocoa once you are back in the loft. It goes down hot and tasty and so very real. Carly accepts you back into her bed with only a mumble to your cold feet.

January 1st. It was going to be a long year.


	2. Chapter 2

**Every now and then I think about you**

**And it makes me, it breaks me**

**Out of you and into me, I'll make it**

**So take a look at what you do to my head**

**When you're leaving, I'm breathing**

**Out of me and into you, I feel sick**

**I feel sick**

**The Energy by Audiovent**

Everything from the air to the hamburger in front of you is awkward. Not that you honestly expected a relaxed environment, but it still seems a bit extreme. Your shoes weren't this uncomfortable earlier this morning and maybe you should have left Carly's lucky sweater to her. She had seemed much more nervous than you had. At the time. Now, even though he's been sitting across from you for almost ten minutes, you are unbelievably nervous.

He's not exactly what you had pictured as a little girl lying in bed awake late into the night. His dark hair is the straightest you've ever seen and probably only half an inch long. His eyes are icy blue and extremely sober. The same color as yours, but somehow colder. His jaw is set in a permanent frown. Charcoal suit; crisp, white, collared shirt. You must look more like your mother than you thought. You must _be_ more like your mother than you thought.

He clears his throat noisily, and you like that he's nervous. He should be nervous. You sure as hell are. His eyes haven't left your face since you walked in and that kind of freaks you out. He hasn't touched his burger and, for once, you really aren't all that hungry.

"So…"

You consider responding to his prompt, but you want him to sit on this. You want him to suffer a little longer considering your age and the fact that you've never met him before. He isn't even one of the men that offered condolences at your mother's funeral.

Your mother's funeral. It has already been a few days since you found her dead, hasn't it?

"So, I… I'm glad you came." He finally mutters in a deep voice. You stare at him like he couldn't have said something dumber before letting up a little. You didn't generally like to break adults. They cried so much more than children. And for so much longer.

"Yeah."

Another few minutes of silence pass and you pick at your hamburger bun. Maybe you should go. Yeah, this is supposed to be a deep and touching and overly emotional thing. But you aren't really good at that and all of this silence has turned you bored.

"Maybe we could talk a little?" He suggests in a voice that clearly says he doesn't meet a long lost daughter everyday. "You could get to know me and I could get to know you?"

"Can I be completely honest with you?" You question abruptly. And without waiting for an answer, "I know you want to do this long lost family finally united beautiful collision happily ever after thing. But I'm really not into that. Even though mom died, I already have a family. You're about eight years too late. I don't want to live with you. I don't even want to know you. You hearing me, Chris? So you can skedaddle back across the Sound to home and just pretend you don't have a daughter. I'll be awesome."

You get up and walk towards the door. Behind your eyes is the pull of tears, but you don't know why.

"Sam, wait!" He calls. You turn around to find him standing behind you and you almost jump at how quickly he moved from the booth to the door.

"What?" Your voice shows how startled you are, but you don't care.

"If you didn't want to know me, why did you show up today?" He looks desperate, but also like with this simple question he has outsmarted you. Smug. He looks smug.

"So you could see I was okay. So you could reconsider taking me away from Seattle and my real family." You say in the hardest voice you can muster. "I'll be sixteen soon. I can be emancipated and take care of myself."

"Maybe you could meet me for dinner tomorrow night? When you've had a little more time to think things over? Mourn a little?"

You glare at him. "I am _not_ mourning. It's Thursday. I have to go to school."

Out the door you go, trying your damnedest not to look back. Would he chase after you? Had you just screwed yourself out of a potentially decent father with your cruel words? You were so freaking pissed off right now, you didn't care.

Mourn? Mourn what? What the hell was he expecting? You to cry? To be upset? There was just no way. She wasn't someone worth missing.

You slip into a side alley just as the tears begin falling. Fucking things keep attacking you. You don't need to cry. You aren't sad. You _aren't_ mourning.

It surprises you to see concerned eyes bob out of the crowd passing and move to be in front of you. They blink slowly, dark green in color. The girl, who was probably around your age or just a little older, set a heavy hand down on your shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

You want to scream. You hate that question.

The next thing you know, your fist is colliding with her jaw and, almost in slow motion, you watch in awe as her head snaps back and she makes a noise of intense pain. Her eyes meet yours again and blood begins to drain from the corner of her mouth. You're crying and she's crying and then you are running.

The anger is gone and all you have left is the adrenaline rush and the pain in your hand and nothing else. Because you had your mother. And now she's gone. You have nothing left.

You don't stop running until you reach your high school. You hadn't really meant to go there, but that's what you had told your father you would do, and you can't believe you just punched that poor girl, so you had followed your own instructions. The school is, of course, completely empty considering you are on winter break until next week.

The tears are still gushing out, now accompanied with heavy, painful, wracking sobs that shake your slim body and unsteady you. You lean into the cold stone for what feels like days, pouring your anger and sadness and pain into the old building, hoping for some reprieve.

When the tears finally stop, more because you have none left than you were actually ready to quit, you slide down the school to sit on the freezing cement. You rub your gloved hands together and pull your knees up into your chest. Where can you go? Home, gone. Carly's place? She would know you just spent the last- you check your watch- hour and a half bawling at school. But you don't need to go to her. She comes to you.

Her cheeks are flushed from cold her forehead crinkled in worry. She's kneeling in front you before you can react, holding your damaged hand in hers.

"Sam…"

"How did you know I was here?" You question, your voice cracking.

"You told your dad you'd be here." She shrugs.

You gape at her. "You talked to my dad?"

She shakes her head. "I heard you say it."

"You _heard _me say it?"

"Okay, so I followed you to meet your dad!" She admits. "Sue me! I was worried so I just tagged along at a distance."

"And you just let me stand there and cry like that?"

"Well," She licks her lips, "I thought I would give you some space. There was no way you would have gotten all that out had I come over earlier."

You roll your eyes. "Great."

"Come on, let's go home. I need to splint your fingers anyway. I think you broke them when you punched that poor, concerned passerby. Why did you punch her, by the way?"

"She asked me if I was okay." You mumble.

"Remind me never to do that. Or, maybe you could just stop punching people for no reason like that?" She helps you up, wrapping her arms around your waist.

"Gees, you say that like I punch people all the time."

"Well, your choice of victim concerns me."

You lean into her embrace. "I didn't mean to hit her. She just picked a bad time to approach me. I promise to let her beat me up if I ever see her again."

"You will not."

"No, but I'll apologize. It's the best I can do."

Back at Carly's loft, you sit directly in front of the heater and soak in its warmth. Carly sits on a stool in front of you with Popsicle sticks and an ace bandage. You've changed into drier, warmer clothes that make you feel puffy. She just sits there, looking all pretty and mature and loving. And as you stare, you know you'd give anything to melt into her.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" She questions, eyebrows raised in a delicate arch.

"Just thinking." You shrug.

"Not about punching anyone…?"

"No." You lower your eyes and grin. "But now that you mention it…"

She backs up quickly, but you catch her hand and pull her to you. Your arms curl around her on their own accord and you snuggle as far into her neck as you can get. "I want to stay with you."

She sighs into your ear. "I wish you could. But… even after what you said to your dad, he still seems to want to take you. Maybe you can work things out at dinner tomorrow."

"I don't like him."

"You don't know him."

"I don't want to know him!" You exclaim. "He doesn't get to walk into my life now and take me away!"

She flinches at your loud voice in her ear. "You don't need to yell. My ear is right next to your mouth."

And suddenly your mouth is on her ear instead of just next to it. You don't know what's come over you lately, but you can't stop yourself from tracing the shell with your tongue and nibbling on her earlobe. You bite down ever so softly and feel her clench.

"Sam." She whispers, barely audible, but its enough.

You stop and pull away. "I'm … I'm…"

"Its okay." She says, but she's blushing. "Its fine. We don't _really_ have to talk about it."

She's pacing away from you, holding the splint materials in her hands.

"Carly!" You call and she jumps. You hold up your hand.

"Right." She heads back over to you, taking your hand in hers. Her fingers are careful and skilled as they line up the Popsicle sticks and wrap the ace bandage around. Your brain flashes to your mother and all the times she could have patched you up or even spared a thought to your injuries but didn't. Your eyes burn and you fight the associated urge.

"There. That should do it."

You flip your hand around a bit. "Looks good to me. How am I going to cut meat with this, though?"

"I guess I'll just have to do that for you."

"Would you?"

"Of course."

You smile at her. "Why do you always do this stuff for me? What do I give you in return?"

She shrugs. "Your undying love?"

"Well, duh. Is there something else you'd like in return?"

She's staring at you open-mouthed like there is some sort of hidden message in your words, and you wish there was because it seems she might not run away right now if there happened to be.

Wait.

You wish there was a hidden message in your words? You sucked on her ear? What the hell? She's your best friend. Not some kind of friend with benefits or something more. Something more… be something more with Carly? That… could never happen. Besides, you aren't gay.

"Are you offering something else?" Her voice cracks.

When your lips meet hers this time, you realize being hetero could quite possibly be overrated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Suddenly there's comfort in**

**The way the world comes crashing in**

**And every tear reminds me I'm alive**

**Tonight**

**These Are The Days by The Exies**

It's that feeling you get when you're sitting in the principle's office and you know the punishment this time isn't going to be just a detention. It's that feeling that life is suddenly out of your control and no matter how you grasp to hold onto it, it's actually in someone else's hands. This feeling makes you want to curl up in a ball and hide in the washing machine.

Your father not only knows he is in possession of such power, he's relishing it. Chris's hands are folded tightly on the table with a cold grin plastered on his face. As much as he thinks he's won, you never lose a fight.

You return his smile and sip your milkshake. Chocolate raspberry. "No." You finally say.

His face falls. "No?"

You shake your head. "No. Your turn."

"What do you mean no?" He ignores your comment. "Its not a choice. If I say you're coming to live with me, than you're coming to live with me."

"Everything's a choice."

"Not this. You're legally mine."

You lean back in your seat, stretching your legs and linking them at the ankle. "You're not on my birth certificate."

He lowers his eyebrows. "So?"

"So, there is no proof that you're my father." You shrug.

He rolls his eyes. "How would your grandmother have known to contact me if I wasn't identified as your father?"

"Mom told her, I guess." You shrug again. "It doesn't matter, though. There's no proof we are related at all. If you want custody of me, you're going to have to get a paternity test. And let me tell you something: you won't get a sample of my DNA easily."

He stands, dusting off his hands on his thighs and glaring at you. "Enjoy your last week in Seattle." He tosses some money on the table and heads out the door.

You breathe like you've just sprinted the hundred-yard dash once Chris is out of the restaurant. You gasp for air repeatedly, feeling your forehead heat with nerves. You've lied a lot in your life, but never about something this big. Its true that he wouldn't have rights to you if he weren't on your birth certificate. Only he is and telling him otherwise will only buy you a few days.

You came up with the plan when your aunt dropped off some of your stuff at Carly's loft, birth certificate included. Spencer had jumped to his feet and shouted this little bit of information with so much excitement you actually took a step back. You hadn't been nervous until you sat across from him at dinner. He was so… intimidating. None of that matters now, though. You have more time.

Carly perches on the tips of her toes, standing on the couch, when you open the door. Her fingers are crossed and she stares hopefully down at you. "Well?" She yells.

"He bought it." You mutter, leaning your back into the wall.

She gives a squeal of delight and throws herself at you. "This is so great!"

"Don't get overly excited yet. As soon as he figures out he really is on my birth certificate, he'll be back." You plop down on the couch and sigh heavily. "He'll be back." You mumble again.

Carly sits down next to you, brushing your curls out of your face. "No offense, but why does he want you so bad anyway? I mean, he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who just desperately wants offspring."

"No offense taken." You sigh. "Honestly? I don't know either. He gains nothing from me. I have no money, no nothing."

"Maybe you should call your grandma. See what she knows about this Chris. Suspicious character, if you ask me."

You grin at her and pull out your phone. "Everyone in my family is a suspicious character."

She nods and raises her eyebrows. "I'll give you that."

Your grandmother picks up after three rings. "Dave?"

You frown, even over the phone. "No, its Sam."

"Oh." You hear her rustle stuff on the other end. "Sorry, Dave's supposed to drop by for a pick-up. What can I do for you, Sammy? How you holding up?"

"I'm fine." You bite out through your teeth. That phrase is still hard for you to manage. "I was wondering what you know about Chris?"

"Your pappy?"

"Yeah."

"Not much."

"What do you know?"

"Like I said, not much. Your mom was in love with him for a few months, and then she wasn't anymore. She decided not to tell him about you because she thought he'd be a bad influence."

You almost laugh, considering that the majority of your family could qualify as a bad influence. "Do you have any idea why he'd want me to come live with him so badly?"

"No." She replies after a moment. "Why? Do you think something's up with him?"

You visibly shrug, but remember you're on the phone. "I don't know, but I bought some time by telling him he's not on my birth certificate."

"Oh… nice." Your grandmother says approvingly.

"Thanks. Could you have Uncle Louie run a check on him?"

"Sure, sweetie. Call me if you need anything. I'm here for you."

When you hang up the phone, Carly's eyes are fixated on your face. You look down so you don't have to face her. "You think something's up with your dad?"

You shrug for what feels like the thousandth time. "I don't know. But I'm not taking any risks."

"So what do you want to do?"

You look her over then, taking in her dark hair and the way it frames her face. Her chocolate eyes and the way they set fire to your lower extremities with only a flicker. Her soft pink lips and the way they pout out now as she worries.

"You." You mutter and capture her lips with yours.

She kisses you back, but pulls away quickly. "I meant about your dad."

"Break into his house and go through his things." You whisper and kiss her again.

Her hands grip your shoulders and she holds you at arm's length. "What?" She shouts.

You smile innocently. "Oh, come on. What did you think I would do? Sit back and let him destroy my life?"

"No, but you could try something a little more legal!" She screeches at you.

"He wants me to live with him anyway, so it'd be like breaking into my own house."

She considers that for a moment. "I guess you're right. But I'm coming with you. And we should bring Freddie along as a lookout."

She's the one to attack your mouth with her own this time and you're the one to stop her. "Why are you so okay with my answer? I'm making an excuse to commit a B and E!"

"I'm curious, too." She shrugs shyly. "And we might find something that could help me keep you."

You blush instantly at her words. She has this effect on you a lot. "I think I've been a bad influence on you."

"I know you have." She mumbles back seductively.

And that's when Spencer walks through the door and spots you on the couch. Its not like you are in a compromising position or anything, but the mood had been set and him walking in hadn't done much for it. He heads into the kitchen, his arms full of grocery bags, not realizing he'd just ruined a moment. You sigh and get up, following him to the counter.

"What'd you buy?" You feel more than see Carly sway into the spot next to you.

"Did you get supplies for Mr. Donovan's Orca sculpture?" Carly questions.

He smiles with his eyes wide and scared. "Sure." He dumps out the bags. "And some Q-tips."

On the counter are about thirty larges boxes of Q-tips. Carly is fuming. "Spencer," She says in a deadly whisper.

He throws his hands up in the air. "I know! I'm going to get started! I just have to win this challenge first."

"What challenge?"

"This guy at the store said I couldn't build the rooster Peter battles with on _Family Guy_ from Q-tips."

She frowns at him. "How old was this guy?"

"Twenty." Spencer says defensively.

"Spencer."

"Fine, ten. What does it matter?"

She shakes her head. "Spencer, go buy the supplies for the Orca."

He pouts at her, but grabs his wallet and stomps to the door. "Fine!"

You grin at her after the door slams shut. "Did you just parent him?"

She shrugs. "He gets sidetracked. He just needed a shove in the right direction. I wasn't parenting him."

"You were parenting him."

"Shut up."

You take her hands in yours and draw her close. "What do you say we go upstairs and I give you a massage?"

She smiles and kisses you, pulling you into her arms, and resting her chin on your shoulder. "You really want to break into your dad's house, Sam?"

"Having second thoughts?" You question.

"If it was for anyone else, I would be. But for you? No." She pulls back and looks into your eyes. "For you I'll do anything."

You grin. "You don't have to go. I can do it alone."

"Hell no. Did you want to do this tomorrow?"

You consider for a moment. "No. He'll be home tomorrow. It'd be better to wait until he's back at work. Monday?"

"We have school Monday." Carly points out immediately.

"So? It's the first day back, we won't do anything interesting."

She shrugs against you. "Fine. Monday it is. At least that'll give us the weekend to plan."

You run your hands down her sides and up the edges of her shirt. "You know, if you don't want a massage, I could rub other parts of your body."

She giggles in your ear. "Your such a perv."

"Is that why you let me do naughty things to you?" You ask and there's some weakness in your voice that you wouldn't let show for anyone but her.

"No," She exhales slowly as your fingers creep up her skin. "That's because I love you."

As she leads you upstairs, you realize you haven't thought once about your mom all day. Well, you've thought about her, but not in the end-of-the-world way you seem to be dealing with lately. And that's progress, right? And on Monday, when you find out who this 'Chris' really is, maybe you'll learn something about your mom that'll help you figure out why you keep crying. God knows you could use some answers instead of more questions.


	4. Chapter 4

**Every other day**

**I sit and wait for the same bad news**

**Can you hear me say**

**I've got nothing left to lose**

**Someone please start making sense**

**And beg the lord for accidents**

**I've seen the worst-case scenario**

**Slowly letting go**

**Rescue Me by Hawthorne Heights**

"It's freezing!"

"Shut up, Freddie."

"Sam."

"Right. Please shut up, Freddie."

She glares at you with her eyes, but she grins anyway. "Sam." She whispers again.

"What?" You question. "I said please."

The door opens with a satisfying click. You grin as you turn the handle and shove it open.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present my father's house."

Freddie checks his watch as he steps into the house. He's been doing that compulsively since you got on the ferry this morning. You want to make some kind of insulting joke about it, but you can't think of one. You're too distracted.

Your father's house is in a respectable part of Bremerton, which you didn't realize there was one. It's a small, light blue rambler with a nice front porch. The shades are pulled, letting light in through the front windows. The door is heavy oak with a small window towards the top. Finally committing the entering part of a B and E, you slip into the entryway, noticing the floor mat placed conspicuously next to the door for shoes. You quickly slip your shoes off and onto the mat.

Carly raises an eyebrow at you. "That's strangely considerate of you."

You point at the mat in an accusatory way. "Take yours off too. The last thing I need is him coming home to our muddy footprints going through the house. He'd know it was me."

Freddie frowns at you. "Maybe he'd think someone just broke in."

"He knew my mother, he'd know it was me." You move further into the house, switching the lock on the door. "Besides, we aren't taking anything. What kind of person just breaks in to have a look around?"

"Only long lost daughters." Freddie responds sarcastically.

You smile at him. "Exactly."

You lead them off to the right into the living room. Its sparsely decorated, only a couch and a coffee table covered in newspapers and magazines. You rummage through the papers as Carly peeks out the window. Freddie lingers just outside the room, staring worriedly at the door.

"Did you notice the For Sale sign when we walked up?" Carly questions from the window.

"No, is there one?"

"Yeah. I wonder why he's selling his house."

You shrug, unconcerned. "What does it matter? Get to digging. Go check out the kitchen."

She turns to leave the room. "It could mean he's moving closer to where you currently live to make things easier for you."

You turn to frown at her. "And why would he do that for me?"

She shrugs, heading out of the room.

Freddie bounces on his feet, jumping at small noises outside. "I think we should leave now."

You glare at him. "Stop being such a coward. We're fine." You hop back to your feet, heading back into the entry. "Nothing in there. All it says is he likes the news. Not exactly blackmail material."

"We're here for blackmail material?" Freddie squeals at you.

"Well, duh."

You glance in the kitchen at Carly, studying the curve of her spine as she arches her back to look into a high cupboard. Down the hall, there are three doors. You push the first one open, finding a surprisingly clean guest bathroom. No good. The next door. You hold your breath as you grip the handle and shove it in. The room is as Spartan as the living room. A desk, a laptop lying closed on top, three bookcases with a few books on random shelves. You walk in, eyeing the books, but there's nothing there. They're all fiction. Not even interesting fiction.

Skimming your fingers along the laptop, you considering opening it. But you aren't some kind of computer expert, Freddie is too nervous to be of service, and he probably has a password. The obvious is always wrong.

You sigh as you click the door shut behind you and approach the last door. You slide it open a smidge and step inside. Just a bed and a dresser. An alarm clock on the floor.

"Why do you have nothing in your house?" You whisper, running your hand along the dresser.

"Because I'm moving."

You scream.

Normally, you aren't one to be scared by anything, but when someone who isn't supposed to be home sneaks up behind you, its scary.

You turn slowly, guiltily, on your heels to look at him. He doesn't look angry or cocky. He doesn't even look pleased to have caught you.

"Did you call the police?" You ask, leaning against the dresser like you're the one in control.

He shakes his head. "On my daughter entering my home? Yeah, I'm sure they'd have a car on its way over ASAP."

You smile lightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't that what I should be asking?"

You shake your head. "I think what I'm doing here is quite obvious. You, on the other hand…"

"Day off." He says with a shrug. "Some boy in my foyer whispered your name before sliding down my wall. I don't think he passed out. Just in shock. Pretty sure."

You nod. "Well, it's been nice chatting with you. Guess I'll be on my way."

He shuts the door, leaning into it. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"Uh, let's think. You threatened me, I've never met you before even though your supposedly my "father," you want to take me away from my home, my friends, my family. Take your pick."

He nods, disposing of your sentence. "I think you hate me because of your mother. Because maybe living with me would be better than living with her and that would insult her memory."

I frown at him. "What kind of idiotic reasoning is that?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, Sam. Just because I'm an adult doesn't mean I know everything!"

Even he looks surprised that he yelled. He slumps over to the bed, sinking down onto it and burying his face in his hands. You consider leaving. Now would seem like an easy escape. But something keeps you glued to the spot.

"Chris…"

He lifts his head to face you. "I've tried every approach I can think of with you. Being nice, bribery, threats. I don't know where to go next. I know you just lost your mother, but to alcohol poisoning. I know for a fact that wasn't her first drink. Can you try to see things from my position? I just found out I have a child! Do you have any idea what that's like?"

You shrug, ginning sheepishly. "I'm fifteen. If I have any long lost children popping up, I'm even more screwed up than I thought."

He tries to smile, but fails. "I never knew about you. She never bothered to tell me. After talking to your grandma, I thought I could give you a better life. Some part of me actually thought you'd jump at the idea. But I was wrong, of course. Its hard to be the father to someone you've never met before. I don't know how to deal with you."

You lick your lips, sitting down next to him. "Not threatening me is a start."

He finally smiles. "It's the only thing that ever worked with your mother, I thought I'd give it a shot."

You nod, feeling like a douche. "It is." You agree. Glancing around, you ask, "So where you moving to?"

"Seattle." He answers immediately. "I thought it would be an easier transition for you if I didn't take you out of your school and away from that weird boy in my foyer and the girl in my kitchen."

"Freddie and Carly." You tell him. "They're my, well, Carly's my friend. Freddie is our producer."

He nods, like he was suspecting that. "So, uh, maybe we could try again? Start over? I can't just ignore it when my blood is walking around Seattle."

You chew your upper lip in consideration. "Fine, but under my conditions. You can come have dinner at Carly's with us. I'll reserve my judgment of you until Spencer and Carly have decided whether or not they like you."

He smiles. "Done. When?"

"Wednesday." You say simply. "Be there by six or the door is locked."

"I'll be there."

You stand nervously, pacing over to the door. "Well, I should be going then."

He stands too. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not letting my sixteen-year-old daughter gallivant around on her own with her friends. Or, friend and producer."

You gape at him. "What do you- who do you think you are?"

"Your father." He grins. "Come on, I'll escort you guys back to Seattle."

Carly and Freddie are huddled in the foyer, looking frightened. Carly rushes forward to you as soon as you appear in the hallway.

"I would've warned you, Sam, but he was already heading down the hall when I noticed him." Carly shouts in your ear.

You hold her at arms' length. "Its okay. No harm, no foul."

Freddie is trying to force his right foot into your left shoe. "We should leave. Very nice house, so sorry we should go. Must leave immediately. My mother is going to kill me. Can't believe I agreed to this at all. A B and E. Gees."

You snatch your shoe out of his hand and slip it onto your foot, pointing him in the direction of his shoes.

"Chris is escorting us back to Seattle." You announce.

It's a long, silent ferry ride back to Seattle. Carly holds your hand. Freddie stares at Chris with a silent scream frozen into his features. You chuckle the entire forty-five minutes about it. He leaves you at the elevator in Carly's building, with a quiet, "See you."

Carly's questions fall on deaf ears as you space out at the glowing numbers in the elevator. They soon combine with Spencer's questions as he tries to figure out what you guys are doing home three hours before school is supposed to let out. You hear nothing until Carly locks you in her bedroom and sits on your lap to get you to focus.

"Will you please just tell me what happened so I can stop going crazy?" She asks.

You stare at her for a minute, and then kiss her with what little imagination you have left after the morning you had.

"I'm going to give him another chance." You tell her against her lips. "He explained himself, so I'm going to let you and Spencer be the judge."

She licks your bottom lip, pausing to catch your eye, before pulling back a little. "I think that's a good idea."

"You do?"

"Yes. I do."

"Why?"

"Well, I think he might just be trying to do the right thing." She shrugs.

"Is that what you got out of his actions?"

"Let's be honest, Sam," She mumbles, holding you closer. "You aren't the easiest person to get close to, or deal with in general."

"You're close to me." You point out. You weren't really referring to proximity, but she wiggles her hips in your lap in a very positive way. You grin as you kiss her neck, tasting soap on her skin, her pulse beating into your lips.

She bobs her eyebrows at you. "Only because you want me so badly."

You shrug. "Its true."

With that, her tongue slips back into your mouth, your thoughts drift to naughtier, more pleasing places.


End file.
